


The Big Ouchy

by My_Soul_and_Perfume



Series: "I love you," "I love you more" [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Birthday Fluff, Fluff, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, Praise Kink, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 12:59:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14356029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Soul_and_Perfume/pseuds/My_Soul_and_Perfume
Summary: Will gets injured the day before Winston's birthday party. Will he able to brave through it?





	The Big Ouchy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MessyScandinoodle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MessyScandinoodle/gifts).



> Prompt from @messy-scandinoodle on Tumblr: If you haven't already started the other [prompt], I'd honestly just like you to write more of daddy Hannibal and little will. I'd love to see Will getting perhaps a fairly big booboo, and Hannibal fixing him up
> 
> Sorry in advance for the weird formatting! I'm dead tired and will fix it tomorrow <3

   “Will, do you have everything you need?”

   “Of course!”

   “All of the ingredients?”

   “Yes.”

   “Your oven mittens?”

   “Yes.”

   “Your apron?”

   “Yes.”

   “Your bear?”

    “I don’t need it.”

    “Are you sure?”

    “Yes.”

    “Darling, you know your cousin won’t make fun of you if you have it, neither will Uncle Frederick. You have my word.”

    “I know, it’s just,” Will bites his lip, looking away, “I want him, Daddy, but aren’t we going out later? In public?”

    “Pooh Bear doesn’t have to be with you in the store, honey. He can wait in the car. Now, go get him. And your jacket as well!” he calls after Will, who _tap tap taps_ up the stairs in his play shoes. Moments later, he returns, carrying Pooh Bear underneath his arm.

    “Can we go _now_?” he urges.

     Hannibal takes the bag full of ingredients off the doorknob after slipping on his coat, then watches as Will buttons up his own. “As soon as you get Winston from the yard,” he replies. Will flies down the hall once more, this time heading straight to the backyard, where Winston waits on a leash.

    “Come on boy! Who’s going to get a haircut? Who’s going to look so good for his birthday tomorrow?” Will cheers. Winston bumps noses with him and licks his cheek. Will giggles, taking the leash. “Good boy!”

    “Remember to listen to your Uncle, Will. I don’t want to hear about any naughty boys getting peanut butter on the counters. Am I clear?” Hannibal says once they’re in the car.

    “I won’t make a mess, Daddy. I promise. Matty’s going to help me.”

    “Good boy.”

      Will blushes, knowing he just said that to Winston moments ago. “Thank you, Daddy, for letting me throw a party for Winston. He’s never had one before.” He pats Winston absently, fondly, feeling comforted by his soft fur.

      “Well, Winston. Happy birthday to you.”

       Winston yaps in response. He lays his chin on Will’s lap, wagging his tail weakly. After getting groomed, he will look tamed and proper, not the scraggly mess he is now.

       Soon, they reach Frederick’s house and Will has to say goodbye to Winston. He hugs him tight. “Bye, Daddy. Bye, Winston.”

      “I’ll be back soon. Have fun. I love you.”

      “Hannibal, he’s fine! Go take the mutt to the pound already!” Frederick grouches from the door.

      “Dad,” Matthew sighs exasperatedly. “Sorry, Will. You know he’s just playing, right?”

      “Of course. Uncle Frederick isn’t _that_ mean.”

      “Ha, right! Here, let me help.” Matthew takes the bag of groceries from Will. “All right, let’s get to baking!”

       In the kitchen, Frederick hisses, “I don’t want any mess on my counters, or if there is, _he_ cleans it up!”

      Matthew smirks when his daddy points at him. “Yeah, Dad,” he responds, knowing Frederick means well. Underneath that tense face is a man who actually has a soft spot for children, even if he seems burdened by them all the time.

     Will helps Matthew take out the ingredients one by one, leaving the eggs for last. “Um, Matty?”

     “Hm?”

     “Can you…um, Daddy doesn’t let me touch…can you, um.” Embarrassment makes Will twiddle his thumbs and bite his lip. _What kind of boy can’t even touch eggs without breaking them?_

       Luckily, Matthew only smiles and pats Will on his head. “It took a long time for Dad to trust me with eggs too, don’t worry. Hey, why don’t you go put Pooh Bear down while I set everything up?”

       Will realizes that he’s had Pooh Bear is still clutched to his chest. He blushes, scampering away to put him down somewhere. There’s a little table in the corner, so he puts him there. “Oh, Pooh, I hope I don’t make a mess,” he frets—but then a rush of pleasure runs down his spine. _What would Daddy do to me if I were bad?_

      When Will comes back, Matthew is washing his hands. He holds his thumb and index finger in a ring shape and blows a bubble at Will. It pops on Will’s nose, making him laugh.

     “Let’s make these the best cupcakes Winston has ever _tasted_!” Matthew cheers.

      They spend the afternoon mixing, stirring, and reading the recipe very (extra) carefully, until finally, the batter comes out just right. They pour it into cupcake molds, place them in the oven, and wait 15 minutes, enjoying the scent of banana and peanut butter filling the kitchen; the cupcakes come out perfect!

     Will wishes he was able to crack the egg and stir the batter with the whisk like Matthew, but he knows his daddy will be proud of him nonetheless. Still, a little ball of anxiety in his chest makes it hard to think and he hurriedly goes to Pooh Bear for comfort. While they wait for the cupcakes to cool, they sit at the table, Matthew telling Will what he’s been up to with Frederick lately.

    “Well, looks like I won’t have to call the fire department,” quips Frederick, taking long strides into the kitchen. _No mess on the counters? How did they manage that?_ “Huh,” he huffs, dragging a long finger over the counter, “Not a drop. On anything.” He’s a little disappointed that he won’t get to punish Matthew, but good things come to those who wait. Matthew will slip up eventually. And he’ll be waiting to whip the mischief out of those eyes when he does. “Well, good job, Will. Matthew. I suppose you boys have earned my gratitude. I wasn’t looking forward to cleaning up anything today.”

    “Thank you, Uncle Frederick,” beams Will.

    “Hm. Don’t mention it.” Just then, his phone rings. “Hannibal, did they take the mutt, or was he too ugly looking?” He smiles devilishly when he hears Hannibal sigh.

    “Frederick, I hope you aren’t saying this in front of Will. Anyhow, they have taken Winston now, but it will be some time until they are done with him. We still need to get his presents at the mall. What do you say to carpooling the boys?”

    “Fine. We’ll meet you there. Give me twenty minutes,” Frederick answers, promptly hanging up the phone.

    “What did Daddy say?” Will asks, heart fluttering in his stomach.

    “Don’t worry, Will, your little mutt is fine. Your daddy wants to meet us at the mall, now, so go clean yourselves up.”

      Will brightens up at that, knowing that he’ll get to spend time with Hannibal soon. The day is nearly over, the sun approaching the horizon and clouds streaking the sky. He quickly cleans his hands and face (which Matthew helps him with), grabs his coat, and finally, they’re out the door.

~*~

     “Uncle Frederick, Daddy isn’t here.”

     “He’ll be a little late. There’s traffic on the freeway.”

     “Can’t you tell him to drive faster?”

     “Are little boys supposed to tell their daddies what to do?” Frederick growls menacingly.

      Will bites his lip and clings to Matthew’s side. He shakes his head no.

     “Huh. That’s what I thought.”

     The sureness in his tone doesn’t make Will feel any better about his daddy being late. _Why isn’t he here? Why isn’t he on time? What if he’s hurt, or—_

    “Well, you have gifts to look for, don’t you? Don’t waste my time. I was kind enough to drive you here, so go do what you came to do. Matthew, stay with him.”

    “Yeah, Dad.”

    “Matty, have you been to this store before?”

    “Yeah, I can show you where to go.” He takes Will’s hand. “Dad, where ya gonna be?”

    “Right here.” Frederick bunches up his slacks and takes a seat on a nearby bench. He checks his watch. “It’s 5 o’clock. Hurry up.”

~*~

     Hannibal arrives within the next hour, dressed down to his slacks and shirt.

    “I hope your wallet is stuffed because Will isn’t going to hold back on gifts.”

    “Good afternoon, Frederick.”

    “Always the gentleman, Hannibal.” Civilly, Frederick shakes Hannibal’s hand; he upturns his nose at the smug expression on his face. “The boys have been surprisingly tame today. Not a drop on the counter—and Willy didn’t shed a single tear! He’s afraid you’ll cancel this whole thing.” Frederick raised an inquiring brow.

   “Where are they now?”

   “There.”

    Will and Matthew strut down the aisle. Will’s arms are clutching a hand basket to his chest, filled to the brim with dog toys, treats, a collar, and a leash. Matthew, carrying a massive dog bed, fumbles to catch stray toys as they fall out the basket. Hannibal spots a few people giggle to themselves.

     They get through the embarrassing display after sorting who will hold what. Will seems very possessive of the basket, though Hannibal isn’t sure why. He opts to taking out a few toys to make it lighter, nonetheless. Frederick prefers to watch Matthew struggle with the dog bed.

      When they finish checking out and exit the store, Will is barely holding his excitement in.

    “Oh, Matty, I just can’t wait! Daddy, thank you _so_ much!”

    “Shh, settle down, Will. They’re talking,” hushes Matthew. He takes Will’s hand and holds it tight.

    “I have no room in my car for all this,” Frederick gestures.

    “Are we riding in Dr. Lecter’s car?” Matthew asks.

     Will gasps. “Daddy? Daddy, can he?!”

    “I will take you, Will, and everything home with me,” Hannibal confirms.

    “Yes!” He clutches his daddy’s hand close to his hip (the other one that Matthew isn’t squeezing to death). Hopefully it doesn’t look too odd to the people in the parking lot: three men holding hands.

     Matthew gets in the car after helping put the things in the trunk. Frederick leans down to talk to him, but Will doesn’t hear what he says over his own excited babbling.

    “Daddy, is it time to get Winston?”

    “Not yet, darling.”

    “Oh, but _Daddy_!”

    “It is not Winston’s birthday until tomorrow, Will. You don’t even have your things. The cupcakes. Your bear. Where are they?”

    “I’m afraid they’re both at the house,” Frederick answers. “Looks like Willy is going to have to ask _extra_ nicely for me to drive back and get them.”

     Hannibal stares at Frederick.

    “Or…I’ll just go get them now and see you at the house.”

    “Will, what do you say to dear old Frederick?”

    “Thank you!”

      Finally, they’re in the car and on their way.

~*~

      The garden needs to be set up, but his daddy won’t let him help with that, so Will plays with Matty instead.

     “Vroom, vroom! Pull over! This is the police! Hands in the air!”

      “Why do I have to be the bad guy again?”

        Will sighs as if he’s explained it a million times. “Because. I have the gold badge,” He points to the plastic star on his chest, “which means I’m the cop. Now freeze!”

        But Matthew gets other ideas.

        He sprints out the room, abandoning the toy cars, and runs down the hall.

       “You can’t catch me!”

       “Watch me!”

        Matthew takes a turn for the stairs and Will follows.

        He’s just about to tag Matthew when suddenly—

       “Matty!”

      —the floor tilts on its axis, his body twists, his hands brace for the pain they know is coming, and then—

      “Will!”

       —he’s at the bottom of the stairs. Screaming.

 _Oh_ , the _pain_!

      The carpet cushions his shoulder when he lands, an _oomph_ pushed out his lungs. All the oxygen has been sucked out the room, leaving him choking on his breath and tears; tears that run rapidly down his face, over his red cheeks.

      Will knows he’s calling for his daddy. He knows it. He knows his daddy is coming, but it feels like forever; like hours are passing and the pain is getting worse—he’s going to lose it!

_I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t wanna play anymore._

     “What were you two doing!” he hears Frederick growl.

     “N-nothing. We were just playing and he fell!”

     “Frederick. Enough.”

      Sobs have turned into ugly sniffles and rapid blinking. He whimpers at Hannibal’s voice; it wraps around him like a security blanket.

     “Will, it’s all right. Daddy’s here. Where does it hurt?” Hannibal asks, tracing his hands lightly over Will’s back and chest to feel for anything out of place. Will already has a bad history with his shoulder. “Will. Will, honey, look at Daddy.”

      Rivulets of tears run crookedly over his face, falling beneath his chin, and wets the carpet. Hannibal’s eyes are bedrock in a storm on the sea, but they’re concerned and pained, and Will hates himself for making him so worried.

     “Is it very painful, sweetheart?”

     “Hurts a little,” Will mumbles. His gaze returns to the puffy, swollen mess of his right arm. A deep, frightened gasp knocks the wind out him, leaving him momentarily dizzy.

     “Hush, hush, little one. It’s all right. Deep breaths. Remember what I said, sweetheart? Sometimes good cops get big ouchies. All you need is a daddy’s love to make it all better.”

      Usually, it’s a joke Will would laugh about when he got bruises and scrapes playing in the backyard, but this hurts like nothing else he’s felt before.

     “Daddy, wanna get up,” he whines. The carpet rubs his cheek raw, making it itchy and inflamed, and he feels uncomfortable with everybody just _staring_ at him.

     “I know, sweetie, but Daddy has to make sure your head is okay first. On a scale of one to five, how bad does it hurt?”

      Will thinks about it. “Three.”

     “How far did he fall?” he asks Matthew, who has his arms tucked closely to his chest.

      Matthew’s voice wavers as he answers, “Just the last couple of steps.”

      Hannibal nods. Will is in no immediate danger, but he will still monitor him.

     “A klutz at the worst of times,” Frederick grumbles under his breath.

     “Frederick, would you grab the first aid kit in the main bathroom? Matthew, Will needs ice.”

     “Do I wrap the ice in a towel?”

     “Yes, you foolish boy,” Frederick snaps, but Matthew only glares at him.

     “I hate you,” he mutters, turning on his heel.

       Just then, Hannibal’s phone rings in his pocket. He mutes it quickly, lifts Will into a bridal carry, and lays him down on the sofa.

       It is 8 o’clock and the pale moonlight shines on Will’s equally pale complexion.

      “Your name is Will Graham and you are safe in our home,” Hannibal coos, retrieving a downy throw blanket, “Is there anything you need to say, Will?”

        Will nearly says it—nearly says his safe word—but anxiety is clenching his chest in a vice grip and won’t let him go. The secluded, lonely coldness of a house miles away isn’t what he wants right now. He needs to be _here_.

        He takes the blanket his daddy offers him, allowing those strong, capable arms to pull him in a hug; he cries on Hannibal’s shoulder shamelessly.  

        Hannibal’s phone rings again. Matthew wanders cautiously inside the room, Frederick coming down the stairs simultaneously, and suddenly, it’s like Will’s anxiety falls away; his daddy is here; his cousin is by his side; his uncle watches on the sidelines but is undoubtedly worried: family all around him: no longer only Winston and Hannibal, but a family of four.

         For the first time in a long time, Will feels _safe_.

       “I need to examine your wrist, sweetie. Can you be a big boy for Daddy?”

         Will takes a trembling breath, nodding.

         Matthew sits on the couch next to Will and rubs his ankle. “It’s okay, Will. Just relax.”

         Hannibal takes one of Will’s fingers and wiggles them slowly back and forth. “Does that hurt?”

        “No.”

         Hannibal makes his hand a loose fist. “Does this hurt?”

        “No.”

        “Frederick, take out some gauze please. And Tylenol. Alright, Will. Does this hurt?” He wiggles Will’s wrist side to side, watching Will wince in response. Pain flares each time he bends it, making Will too upset to continue.

        “Very good, darling. You did so well. You’re doing so well for Daddy. When you fell, did you hear a cracking noise? Do you feel anything funny in your wrist?”

        “No. Jus’ hurts.”

          Hannibal’s phone rings a third time.

         “I fear that is Winston’s groomer calling, Frederick. If you could pick him up, I would be very grateful.”

         “Daddy,” Will hiccups, tears rushing down his face anew, “Will we have to cancel the party?”

         “Of course not!” exclaims Matthew. “Right, Dr. Lecter?” he pleads with hopeful eyes. _Please don’t break his spirit. Please let him have this._

          “Willy just has a sprained wrist, that’s all. Nothing to fuss about. Winston will have his party, all right,” Frederick chimes. “I can’t pick him up unless I know where he is, though.”

           “I will send the address to your phone.”

           “Matty, let’s go. Get your shoes on. We’re leaving.”

           “But Will—”

           “Needs to be with his daddy right now. Now put your shoes on and give Hannibal that ice. We’re going to pick up Winston and drop him off, then go home. Say goodbye to your cousin.”

            Angry, disappointed, and sad, Matthew gives Will a peck on the cheek before reluctantly (painfully) detaching from his side. Hannibal takes the ice and gives him a grateful smile.

           “Bye, Matty,” Will croaks.

           “See you tomorrow, Will.”

            When they leave, the house is quiet once more. The pounding in Will’s head is more noticeable now, but not as intense as earlier.

           “I will get you some water, so you can take some medicine for the pain. Keep icing your wrist.”

            Hannibal goes to the kitchen to retrieve the water, stopping in the door to text the groomer’s address to Frederick’s phone. When he returns, he feeds Will the Tylenol while rubbing his back.

            “Daddy?”

            “Yes, sweetheart?”

           “Can I have Pooh Bear please?”

           “Why don’t we get you tucked in bed instead? You will be much more comfortable there with your friends and Pooh Bear will be right under the covers with you.”

            It’s true. Will does like the idea of being swaddled in blankets right now. So much so that he holds his arms out to his daddy, a silent plea to pick him up.

            Hannibal carries him up the stairs, chest to chest with Will, supporting his bottom with one hand and caressing his neck with the other.

            Hannibal turns on the nightlight that makes stars decorate the ceiling. He doesn’t make Will brush his teeth, knowing he is tired after such a long day, but does help him change into pajamas. He then swaddles Will in blankets from head to toe. He wraps Will’s arm in gauze and explains what his injury will mean for the next few days.

           “You mean I can’t play catch with Winston?”

           “You could, but you would need to use the other arm.”

           “And I can’t ride my bike?”

           “No, pumpkin.”

            Will huffs. “I don’t wanna be a cop anymore.”

            Hannibal chuckles. “All cops learn to cope with their ouchies, Will. Who else is going to catch the bad guys?”

            Will yawns. He rubs his eyes, looking small and fragile in his pajamas, pastel blue cotton with fluffy clouds on them; twice fragile wrapped in blankets up to his nose; thrice fragile from the nightlight casting a soft flow on his sleepy expression.

           “Hm, I’m not so sure my big boy is up to a story tonight after all. I suppose the hot chocolate will have to be for another time,” Hannibal sighs.

            “Oh, but Daddy, can I please stay up a little longer?” Will protests enthusiastically.

            (Hannibal knows he’d never accept an early bedtime without hot chocolate and a story first, of course. He is only stalling until Frederick comes back with Winston, knowing he can rest at ease if Winston is watching Will during the night.)

           “Hm…. I suppose,” Hannibal answers.

           “Oh, thank you, Daddy! You’re the best daddy ever!”

           “Anything for you, darling. Which story will it be tonight?”

           “Aladdin!”

           “An exciting story for my adventurous boy. Aladdin it is.” Hannibal pulls the oak sitting chair by the window to Will’s bedside; he retrieves the book from the shelf and puts it there. “Sit tight while I go fetch our drinks.”

            A small smile dimples Will’s cheeks.

           “I love you, Daddy. So much.”

           “I love you more.”

~*~

            Will sleeps through the night without any interruptions, Winston curled up to his chest. Hannibal shuts the door quietly, knowing he is safe and sound.

~*~

            “Happy birthday Winston!” Will exclaims the next afternoon. He and Matthew blow their kazoos noisily and Hannibal pops confetti in the air.

            When he sets the cupcake on the ground, Winston tears into it with gusto. The party hat on his head goes crooked with the force of his snapping jaw.

            “Well, Will. I think this is the best cupcake Winston has ever tasted,” giggles Matthew.

“I wonder what it tastes like,” ponders Will.

            He would rather not find out, though.

            “You did a wonderful job, sweetheart,” Hannibal praises. He wipes a dollop of frosting off Will’s cheek. “Daddy is very proud of you for being so brave yesterday and for being such a big boy. I’m _very_ proud of you!”

            Will hugs him tight.

            The sun is high in the sky, memories of pain and sadness a distant memory in his mind. As it turns out, the best remedy to big, bad ouchies is a daddy’s love and care after all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So...how was it?
> 
> Your comments are my lifeline! Thanks for reading! <3
> 
> [Find me on tumblr!](my-soul-and-perfume.tumblr.com)


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